Monsters

Three weeks before her third birthday, Miss D. starts seeing monsters. My fierce warrior child, who fears nothing, now cowers in corners and under covers. Monsters usually appear around 3am. I wake with my heart pounding in my throat, hot with the strength of her scream.

“Monsters! Help me Mommy! I scared!”

I fumble for lights, footing and child simultaneously in the night and realize that I’m just as scared as she is.

**

I was almost in my third trimester with Miss D. when the newspaper was late. This drives my part-German self crazy. I need coffee and the paper to make me human in the morning; without them I am foul. Sourly, I resorted to the television. Mornings suck hard enough without some perky anchor with teeth too good to be true telling you what traffic’s like Out There.

I flicked the screen on just in time to see the second tower of The World Trade Center descend into rubble and smoke.

I thought it was a joke at first, or some weird movie stunt. Everybody did. You just don’t believe things like that can happen, particularly if you’re my age and have missed most of the good tragedies like JFK and World Wars and even Lennon, who I was too little to know.

I spent the rest of September 11 like most Americans did, grotesquely tuned-in. I channel-surfed maniacally, looking for answers or truth or the latest horrible picture, but it was a one-handed quest. The other hand was glued to my swollen belly,and I remember looking down at it and and thinking, “What on Earth have I done?”

**

My friend Tamar, an Israeli Jew, taught at Hebrew University. Her son, Yarden, was born ten days before Miss D. She has lived in Jerusalem, and then Tel Aviv, and has seen unspeakable things in both.

She watched when a bomb destroyed her favorite cafe; watched when the student union blew up in her workplace–minutes before she arrived at the U. She learned to avoid crowds, buses, open-air marketplaces. She grew accustomed to having her car searched by young men in uniforms.

“It’s sad, so sad, what’s going on in Israel, and yet still, I feel it is my home,” she wrote after yet another bombing near her neighborhood. “It’s part of our life here. We live with it and we go on.”

She is stronger than anyone I know and holds tight to her faith, even when horrible things happen. She sends me pictures during poppy season, her son beaming through an endless kaliedescope of orange.

I have seldom seen her rattled, but not long after Yarden’s first birthday, she wrote: I had to get Yarden a gas mask today. They require every child at the daycare to have one. I haven’t even bought my son a pair of real tennis shoes yet. But he has a gas mask.

She and her family now live in Chicago, and she convinces herself that she feels safe. When I ask her, she says she dreams in orange.

**

My sister, who used to be beautiful, has cataracts in both eyes. One more blow to either of them and she could be blinded. Her left eye is smaller and hangs lower in its socket, part of the occipital bone poking out at an awkward angle. She’s lost several front teeth and dresses in long sleeves. Her husband has a temper.

We grew up side by side, camped in the backyard, had parents who loved us and spoiled us and told us we had good brains.

The last time she was hospitalized, my father offered to pay for her divorce.

“I know you don’t approve, but I love him,” she said. “Some people just aren’t strong.” She looked out the window. “I’ve never had any luck.”

**

There’s an old gentleman, a relative of mine, who my mother never lets me be alone in a room with–never has. He’s in his 80′s now, small and wizened like a bad grape. He’s a God loving Baptist, has gone to church every Sunday for generations, gives hundreds of dollars to charity, is a pinnacle of the community. All the women in the family call him Papa.

When my mother was nine, Papa stuck his hands down her shirt in a dark cinema.

She ran all the way home, hysterical, and told her mother what had happened. My grandmother said, “Oh my goodness, is he still doing that?” and continued frying chicken.

**

I fumble for lights and words and my quivering daughter at 3am. She’s sweaty and she’s peed herself and she claws at my neck, burrowing her nose into my hair.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay, Mommy’s here,” I say, rubbing her back.

“Everything’s okay, Baby. No Monsters here,” I whisper, and choke on the lie.

I am in tears – at the monsters and unspeakable truths here, as well as the raw beauty of your writing. Kitch, you are SO a writer, and I am in awe of you.Justine recently posted..The PROJECT and other happier things

Monsters suck but the moment you hold you daughter, and love your daughter –you have chased the monsters far far away. The world we live in is a beautiful place, filled with kindness and love–the moment we believe differently the monsters or zombies or bad guys have won. The World Trade Center, Bombs, your sister (this really sucks) and the “feeler,’ are the bad apples and it is up to us to keep them from spoiling our beautiful wonderful world.

So well written–you can feel the words and the pain.
?Katybeth recently posted..Concerts and Kids

Thrilled to see The Kitchen Witch – one of my favorite writers online and off – here today.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how to balance my wish to protect my kids from the world and my wish to prepare them for the “monsters” that will inevitably find them. Thank you for this bittersweet reminder that I am not alone.Kristen @ Motherese recently posted..Girls Just Want to Have Fun

This post hit me in my gut. How poignant the juxtaposition of real and imagined monsters. Even as a grown woman with a child of my own there are still days that I wish I could nestle in my mother’s lap and ask for her reassurance. Beautiful stuff.

I remember this post very well. This is one of my favorite blog posts amongst all the blogs that I have read, and the one post that got me hooked on not just TKW’s blog but the person behind it. So glad it is featured here so that a wider audience can appreciate this excellent piece of writing/story-telling. Well deserved!

Damn straight you’re a writer. You think I visit TKW for the recipes? They’re OK, I mean, sometimes even pretty good. But your writing is what keeps me coming back. I know a writer when I read one and that’s you.

It’s a necessity — to tell our very young kids there are no monsters when we know they are everywhere. The balance of good and evil confronts us daily and our children learn this early on. As mothers, it’s our job, our privilege, to make sure that they know that despite the monsters that visit them in their dreams, there is comfort and love found in our soothing words and kisses and hugs.

Beautifully written TKW. Such demons need to be aired and you do it with strength and courage.
I met Tamar in Chicago, our boys went to the same school; we tick and treated together, you would never know her gentle sole has seen so much horror and violence. Thank you for the insight.

Monsters? Violence? Aren’t we supposed to be buried in the land of sugar plums right now? Sometimes I am blown away by your strength TKW. If people stood us side by side I bet they would vote that I could kick thier asses….but they would be wrong. You are the very essence of strength and wisdom sometimes. Thank You for having the strength to be honest and to write it so eloquently.Camille Brightsmith recently posted..Blackest Friday

Kitch, EVERY day you are a writer. Every.Single.Day. Your words are rhythmic and true and, even when you are trying to hide it behind snark, you’ve got something important to say. Always. And I’m always listening.
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So SO happy to see you here, my dear. Mwah

The brutal honesty of this left me stunned. You write sparsely but say so much – that’s a real gift. I think your sister’s story will haunt me for days to come.Naomi recently posted..Its the little things

So wonderful, Kitch. So true. So heartbreaking. Bringing 9/11 into it immediately unifies everything and everyone, doesn’t it? I had a 2 month old…took him to his check up that morning. I’ll never forget that feeling that my children were suddenly not safe in their world.Amy @ Never-True Tales recently posted..Lucky in love

You are SO a writer, every time you put your words out there. I hadn’t seen this one before. Anyway – 9/11, I traveled a lot, and was still sleeping when the towers went down. My friend called me and was so relieved to hear my voice and know I wasn’t in one of those planes..

Kitch, you are a gifted writer. Your post today was phenomenal. Truly. I remember that day well. And I remember feeling the same way. My oldest was nearly a year old and I choked on the fear I was trying to swallow. Both for him. And myself.

Please never doubt your writing abilities again. This was amazing. I was fully engrossed in this and could feel my own heart pounding. It’s so hard to be a parent and know the fears that are real but take comfort in the fact that our children are fortunate to have make-believe fears. Many children know all too well the reality. Haunting post – I applaud you for sharing.Heather recently posted..And So You’re Back From Outer Space

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